


Hold On / Let Go

by old_blue



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drunk Sex, Fluff and Angst, Fuck Or Die, Fuck Or Stay Stuck, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Someone Has A Dark Past, Unsafe Sex, Unsafe Spellcasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/old_blue/pseuds/old_blue
Summary: Mordo needs to hold on to something. Stephen needs to let go.





	Hold On / Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> For a Doctor Strange kinkmeme prompt on Tumblr: 
> 
> 'Strordo prompt: because of *insert reason of your choice* they're cuffed together and the spell that did it can't be broken because of reasons. While they find a way to get rid of the cuffs, they have to do everything together, eating, sleeping, showering...'
> 
> I kind of skipped the living together part and went right to the sex...
> 
> Consider this a gift for all the wonderful ladies (and lads) who left such nice comments on my other fic. I know most of you are Strange/Mordo shippers, so this is for you.
> 
> I felt dirty writing this, so I hope you enjoy it! Wheeeee, I'm going to hell…

_1\. Grab_

 

Mordo is a patient man.

He has to be in order to deal with the type of student that ends up at Kamar-Taj—intelligent, resourceful, desperate.  _Broken_. One in particular comes to mind.

He's just walking into the library when the feel of magic—the _smell_ , like ozone cracking through the air—assaults him. Strong magic. _Dangerous_ magic. Magic that no student should be able to manage, or attempt.

And so, of course, he knows who's at fault. And there he is: sitting at a desk in a darkened alcove, back straight with tension, eyes blank, book open in front of him. His hands are in the air, just adding a final flourish to the bright lines of a complicated spell. And it really is beautiful—a marvel of precise lines and symmetry. It's not fair that someone so analytical can so casually produce something so beautiful.

And so dangerous.

Mordo reacts purely on instinct—years of assisting students who have gotten in over their heads working magic they're not ready for making his actions automatic.

He grabs Strange's arm and yanks hard, breaking the spell, smashing those beautiful lines to pieces. The distant look of concentration on Strange's face contorts into one of shock, but he stays stock still. They both stare, frozen, as silver sparks rain down gently over the open book spread out on the desk, blinking away like dying embers.

"What the hell—?" Stephen's breathing heavily now and looking around at the wreckage of magic fading out all over the desk, eyes wide. Then up at Mordo. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Mordo realizes his fingers are still digging into Strange's arm, probably hard enough to hurt. But when he loosens his grip and releases him, there's a bright flash. _Magic? What…?_ Had he not gotten there in time to stop it? He'd been so sure…

He can feel something different now. Magic—steady and solid. _Too late then_ , he thinks. When his eyes have once again adjusted to the dark of the library, Mordo looks down. There's a circle of energy around his right wrist like a thin silver bracelet, little runes glowing faintly as they spin slowly. And around Strange's left wrist—the one he'd grabbed—the same thing. And he can see a short length of energy linking them, wispy and soft, like the silk of a spider's web—a binding. Mordo turns his wrist carefully, examining the threads. They may look ghostly and insubstantial, but Mordo suspects they're not.

He gives the binding an experimental tug, and it pulls Strange's arm up.

"Hey," Strange says. "What are you doing? What is that?" He's finally noticed the predicament that they're in.

Mordo glares at Stephen and shakes his head slowly. _How can one man be so intelligent and yet so idiotic at the same time?_

" _This_ "—and he shakes his arm to emphasize the fact that they're now tied together, making Strange's hand flop around like a puppet's—"is a binding. And a strong one, I might add."

Strange just looks at him blankly for a moment and then back down at his book, brows drawn in confusion.

When Strange finally looks back up at Mordo his eyes are wide. And the only thing he has to say for himself is "Well… _Shit_."

Mordo wants to throttle him.

 

***

 

The Ancient One can barely contain her mirth at their predicament.

"This spell!" she exclaims, delight transforming her features into those of the young woman she must have been all those years ago. "It's been so long since I've seen it used. I'd almost forgotten it existed."

Wong had summoned her after finding the two of them stuck like this. Then the man had slipped quietly from the library, leaving them to their misery, but not before Mordo caught the sly smile on his face. 

And now the Sorceror Supreme seems to be having the time of her long, long life. At their expense, of course.

"It really is beautiful, isn't it?" She shoots Mordo a look of such wicked glee that he brings his hand up to his eyes to rub at them. "So simple and yet so powerful. And so expertly designed." She runs her finger over the lines in the book, stopping at a particular passage.

"Look at this! So clever! The Sorcerer casting the spell is always the one who must take the receptive role." She grins at Strange, and he looks back at her like she's grown another head. "Of course, that makes sense. There are so many ways that such a spell could be used for nefarious purposes. I can think of quite a few right now. Can you, Master Mordo?" And she actually winks at him.

Mordo groans. He knows she's just getting started.

"It wouldn't do to leave a loophole lying around that could be so easily exploited. This is, after all, white magic. _Pure magic._ "

She glances up at Mordo for a moment, and her face is serious, her expression indecipherable. He narrows his eyes, considering. _She's up to something._

Before he can decide what she's thinking, The Ancient One continues. "And the other sorcerer—the one who must perform the…" She pauses dramatically, as if searching for the right words. "Insertion," she announces, gleaming eyes settling on Mordo. "Yes, of course, he must willingly enter the binding, too."

Mordo resists the urge to point out that he definitely did not want to enter this binding—and certainly not with the intention that she's implying—which seems like a pretty major loophole. He supposes that he did willingly grab Strange's arm, though. Maybe that counts. Spellcrafting has never been his strong point. Or, perhaps, his own traitorous thoughts about his student may have betrayed him…

"And the two participants must feel some affection for each other or the spell will not hold." She smirks again. "However, the exact nature of that affection is not specified here. Presuming, of course, that anyone willing to enter into such a binding with another person would feel the _appropriate_ type of affection. Or, at least, know what they were getting into." She gives Strange a meaningful look.

Strange has the decency to look a little cowed. He clears his throat. "So… What do we need to do to break the spell?"

"Break the spell?" The Ancient One giggles. Actually giggles like a little girl.

Mordo rolls his eyes. _At least someone finds this amusing_.

"Oh, Stephen… You can't break _this_ spell. Oh no, It's far too strong. And the casting was far too good. Really well done, by the way." She gives Strange a quick pat on the back. "No. There is no way out but through in this case, I'm sorry to say."

 _But not really sorry_ , Mordo thinks.

"To free yourselves, the two of you must complete the ritual and fulfill the bond."

"And… how do we do that?" Strange asks.

"Why, Stephen… I would have thought that was obvious. You must have read through the entire ritual before attempting it, of course. And undoubtedly you would have come across this particular phrase…" She runs her finger down the page again, stopping suddenly. "Ah, yes. Here we are." She looks at Strange expectantly.

Strange leans over to see what she's pointing at, narrows his eyes. "Uh, I think it translates to 'joining of hearts' maybe… I'm a little rusty. Just learned the language this week, actually," he finishes lamely.

Mordo already knows what she's going to say, of course—it's the best way to power a binding spell, after all.

"Penetrative sex," she announces with delight.

Strange chokes a little. The Ancient One whacks him on the back, helpfully.

"That's what it translates to: Penetrative sex. Just in case you were wondering." She grins at Mordo again.

Strange needs a moment to recover his voice. "So, uh… We have to, uh…" He can't finish the thought, obviously.

"Yes." She's still smiling. "You and Master Mordo will need to have sex in order to complete the ritual. Once you do, you'll be free," she says, as if it could be that simple. "There might be other… complications." She pauses for a moment, considering. "Consequences of sharing a bond, perhaps. But those should fade with time."

Strange, for once, has nothing to say. Mordo thinks, perhaps, that there is nothing to say. Not right now, anyway. And not about this.

But the Sorcerer Supreme continues on. No mercy for them, apparently.

"Sometimes, the most difficult obstacles are those that come from within ourselves." Her voice is soft now, contemplative. "Sometimes we need to face the consequences of our own demons, before we are ready to face those that come from without. Perhaps, we need to learn to trust in our allies, our closest friends." She glances sharply down at Strange. "Set aside our own fears and our own egos to free ourselves from those hindrances. To realize that what we cling to the most is that which is holding us back" She pauses for a moment before locking eyes with Mordo. "Perhaps some of us need to realize that we cannot change who we are. No matter how hard we might try to forget. That we can never escape our pasts. We can only realize that the past is a part of us. And that we are each the sum of our experiences, both good and bad."

Mordo nods his head imperceptibly. _Ah, a teaching moment._ For both of them.

Of course.

 

 _2_.  _Pull_

Mordo's patience with Strange lasts for approximately six hours. _A new record_ , he thinks. He really is slipping. 

The man is infuriating. Utterly infuriating. How had he not seen it before? Obviously, he had never been tied to him before. That is probably a contributing factor. Changes the perspective, apparently.

They had debated and argued about the particulars of their situation, deciding that they would stay in Mordo's rooms while they were... _together..._ because his are larger and have an attached bath. And then Strange had gotten to work trying to find some way to undo the damage he'd done. _A_ _futile_ _effort_ , Mordo thought. If the Sorcerer Supreme declared that you had to have sex to break a spell, then you would probably have to do it. _Eventually_...

Strange had pulled him along from bookshelf to bookshelf for hours, desperately searching for some solution to the problem that didn't involve the joining of bodies. The joining of _their_ bodies, specifically. Mordo had tried to be patient—he knew deep down that he was an exceedingly patient man, it was one of his best qualities—but eventually Strange's muttering and his frantic energy had gotten to him. When Strange leaped to his feet for the millionth time, wrenching his arm again, Mordo had finally snapped.

"Astral projection!" He'd yelled. Right into Strange's ear, enjoying the satisfying way the other man jumped. 

A simple solution to at at least one of their problems. If only the rest could be so easy...

 

***

 

And that's how he'd found himself sitting on his bed next to Strange's empty—and, somehow, still annoying—body. The man has been away for the last seven hours, doing who knows what, while Mordo's been trapped here. So long, that Mordo is beginning to wonder if he's planning on returning at all. He supposes that this, too, might be his own fault—he's the one who'd suggested it, after all.

Mordo sighs and checks the clock again. Almost dinner time. He's hungry. He needs to piss. And his considerable patience has worn thin.

He closes he book he's been reading with a snap and sets it on the bedside table. A simple levitation spell should do the trick. Mordo raises his hands over Strange's body and sketches the sigils. Then it's only a matter of flicking his wrist and Strange floats up from the mattress, light as a feather. Mordo grabs his sleeve and gives him yank—probably with a little more force than is strictly needed—and they're ready to go.

 

***

 

They garner a few odd stares from the newer students as they pass through the hallways, Mordo guiding Strange's body carefully toward the dining room—it wouldn't do to scuff the woodwork, after all.

He'd expected the scrutiny, but it seems most people have already heard about their predicament. And magical mishaps are hardly new at Kamar-Taj. Something to be expected as inexperienced Sorcerers test their limits. The older Masters give Mordo understanding nods as they pass each other. Some of them have also dealt with Strange.

In the dining room, he serves himself some food carefully from what's left. He lets the binding pull Strange along behind him, careful to give others a wide berth so he doesn't knock anyone or anything over. Luckily, the dinner hour is almost over and most of the others have cleared out.

Mordo sits at the bench first, then arranges Stephen's body on the seat next to him before dismissing the levitation spell. Strange slumps down suddenly against the table like a puppet with its strings cut. Mordo winces a little at the sound the other man's head makes when it hits the wood, but he finds it difficult to feel too guilty about it given the circumstances.

He eats in silence for a little while, trying not to think too deeply about the mess they're in and what they will need to do to get out of it. His own thoughts on the matter are disturbing to him, so he examines them carefully. He'd thought he'd done a thorough job of suppressing his feelings for Strange. He is a student, after all. And a difficult, frustrating man. But an intriguing man, Mordo has to admit. And he cares about him. _Quite a lot. And possibly as more than just a friend…_

A cough above him shakes Mordo out of his reverie. Wong is standing next to him, tray in his hands.

He gestures to the bench across from Mordo. "Do you mind if I join you two?" His eyes crinkle at the edges in amusement.

Mordo chuckles ruefully. "No. Please, sit down."

Wong settles on the bench with a small groan. He takes a moment to stare at Strange's still form, brows furrowed slightly, that familiar look of disapproval on his face. Mordo knows that it's mostly an act—Wong is fond of Strange.

Wong tips his head at Strange, frowning. "How long has he been like that?"

Mordo realizes suddenly that he's started losing track of time. "Perhaps… eight hours? Possibly more." It's a long time for anyone to be separated from their body—Mordo can only manage four or so hours before he's feeling stretched at the seams, pulled thin. But he knows that Strange has done this before—mostly at night while his body is sleeping. This is different, though.

Wong is still considering Strange's empty body. "I wonder how long he can go before…"

"Before something breaks?" Mordo finishes. "Or before I kill him?"

Wong snorts. "He's been in the library. I think." He frowns again. "I could order him to return. He probably won't listen. Or you could ask the Ancient One to push him back."

All things that Mordo has considered. Unfortunately, none of them solves the ultimate problem. He needs Strange to come to his own conclusions about their predicament. If that means letting him waste time trying to find a solution when they already have the answer, then so be it. The sooner they get to that point, the better.

Mordo shrugs. "I will take action if I have to. For now, it's fine." He reaches out and pinches the skin on the back of Strange's hand, lets it go. He's not dehydrated. _Yet_. They have time.

Mordo is very patient man. He can wait. He's not sure how long, but he can wait.

 

***

 

Two hours later, and Mordo is back in his rooms. He's already dressed for bed—he'd been surprised and pleased to find that his clothes pass through the magic threads of the binding easily, realized that he had not considered that particular issue before—but he's been putting off sleeping. He knows he will not be able to while waiting for Strange to return. Worry for his student is starting to creep into his mind. Ten hours in the Astral Dimension is really pushing the limits of what is considered safe.

He's just contemplating seeking out the Ancient One and forcing the man back into his body, when Strange sucks in a deep breath next to him, startling him. _Finally._ Mordo feels some of the tension draining from him in relief.

Before he can say anything, Strange sits up suddenly next to him, eyes wide. "I uh… I _really_ need to piss."

 

***

 

Mordo waits with his back turned while Strange relieves himself. It seems to take forever, and Mordo wonders how much longer the man could have gone without having an accident. It's not a pleasant thought—the clean-up mostly. Mordo pointedly ignores the little sigh of relief that Strange can't seem to keep from escaping, though he shivers a bit at the thoughts that come unbidden to his mind at the sound.

When that's done, they move awkwardly around each other as Strange takes off his robes and changes into pajama pants and a t-shirt. Mordo gives him as much privacy as he can, trying not to lose his balance as Strange accidentally jerks on the binding. And then he stands by the sink while Strange drinks two glasses of water, then brushes his teeth and washes his face. Their eyes meet briefly in the mirror, but Strange looks away, brow furrowing before Mordo can decide what he's thinking.

Strange actually seems tired tonight. Gone is the restless, twitching presence that Mordo's become accustomed to having near him. He'd been worried that neither of them would be able to sleep, each bothered by the presence of the other, but perhaps that will not be a problem. Strange hardly moves after they settle in bed. The sudden stillness is disturbing in a different way, though. _Worrisome_.

Mordo glances over, frowning. The other man is not asleep—his eyes are open, staring up at the ceiling, face bathed in the soft silver light of the runes. Something is troubling him. "Did you find anything today?"

Strange blinks a few times and lets out a long breath. "No," he says, sounding exhausted. "Nothing useful."

"Tomorrow, perhaps," Mordo says. He knows it's merely a platitude, but he can't think of anything else to say.

Strange is silent for a moment before rolling onto his side, away from Mordo. "Yeah." He sounds resigned.

Though resigned to what, Mordo can't say.

 

***

 

Morning comes too soon.

Mordo blinks dazedly at the bright sunlight streaming in through the wooden shutters. He can hear a rooster crowing somewhere out in the courtyard, the sounds of Masters and students enjoying their morning Yoga session, someone walking on soft feet down the corridor outside of his rooms.

 It's late for him—he's usually one of the first to rise. He's always found sleep hard to hold onto, found it difficult to relax completely. This morning is different—he feels languid, comfortable. _Warm._ There's something so warm pressed up against him…

_Ah. That would explain it._

He's embarrassed to realize that his entire body is basically wrapped around Strange, spooning him, arms tucked up underneath the other man's, wrapped around his chest. His lips are pressed against the back of Strange's neck. And he smells surprisingly good, like warm skin and Mordo's soap. He waits for just a moment, enjoying the feeling of having another person so close. He flexes his hips just a bit where he's pressed up against Strange's surprisingly soft arse. He's not aroused, exactly—it just feels nice. And it's been too long since he's indulged in a simple pleasure like this.

He should probably put a stop to this before it becomes awkward. He tries to extricate himself as quietly as he can, but forgets about the binding, which has somehow become wrapped around both of Strange's wrists. When Mordo pulls away, he drags the other man's arms with him.

"Sorry," he mutters under his breath, trying to untangle the threads without waking him, knowing it's probably already too late.

But Strange doesn't wake. _Impossible_ , Mordo thinks. He'd always assumed that Strange was a light sleeper. The man is always the first person he encounters in the morning, and the last to turn in at night. He reaches out and plucks Strange's arm up, lets it flop back, boneless, onto the bed. Turns the other man onto his back—his face is slack and his breathing is even. _Out again, then._

 _If that's the way it's going to be_ … Mordo sighs. Then he pushes Strange over onto his side—not too gently—and tucks up against him again, wraps his arms back around until he can feel the soft rise and fall of the other man's chest. He closes his eyes.

And goes back to sleep.

 

_3\. Push_

 

It only takes five days of being tied together for Mordo's patience to snap completely.

They've fallen into a routine of sorts: Strange staying out for most of the day while Mordo makes do with his levitation spells and Strange's lifeless body. Teaching, meetings with the other Masters, meditation—everything is more challenging now with another person tethered to him. Sometimes they switch and Mordo leaves to conduct any business he needs to do without Strange's presence. It's a relief, in some ways, but Mordo has never been enthusiastic about being in the Astral Dimension. He's always preferred the solid comfort of the physical world. He's never gone for long.

They eat and sleep together. And each stands silently while the other takes care of more personal needs, like showering or using the toilets. Although, even that awkwardness is starting to fade. Mordo's surprised and a little dismayed to find that it's all getting easier—he's becoming used to having Strange by his side, sharing the small, intimate moments of his life. And he can feel Strange adjusting to it as well, slipping into a comfortable familiarity with their situation as the days pass.

And, yet, they are no closer to a solution.

Mordo makes a decision that the two of them should talk—actually talk—about their predicament and what they plan to do about it instead of dancing around the issue. He waits until Strange returns to his body, and then Mordo forces the man to eat and drink because he's been neglecting those things. He waits, patiently, as Strange finishes everything he's put in front of him. When they are finally back in Mordo's quarters and dressing for bed, he decides to dive into the awkward silence headfirst.

It doesn't go quite as well as he'd hoped it would. Strange had seemed tense before Mordo even broached the topic of sex. And everything had gone downhill from there...

"I don't understand how you can be so calm." Strange is sitting in Mordo's chair, as far from Mordo as he can get, back straight, foot tapping nervously against the floor. The sound is already starting to drive Mordo mad.

Mordo is not even sure what they're arguing about. "You are angry with me because I'm trying to be reasonable?" He asks carefully.

"No. I'm pissed off because this"—he gestures at the binding—"doesn't seem to bother you."

"It does bother me. But becoming frustrated will not solve our problem. We are going to have to work together to fix this."

"Work together…" Strange snorts in derision. "That's one way to put it."

 _Could the man be sincere for even one second?_ "All right then. What would you like me to say, Strange?" Mordo can't quite keep the exasperation out of his voice. "That we will have to have sex? To make love? To _fuck?_ " He spits the last one out. "Maybe that will make this seem real to you."

Strange flinches at the words. And Mordo wonders, again, how they will ever get through this if even discussing the issue causes so much discomfort between them.

He decides, abruptly to drop the issue. This was a mistake—to even bring it up. The man is just not ready for this, and Mordo is not willing to push him into doing something that is so abhorrent to him. As much as he would like his freedom back, he knows he can't force Strange to do anything. Won't force him. That's not who he is. Not anymore.

He should let it go.

"I am perfectly willing to wait until you overcome your issues." A small dig, perhaps, but Mordo can't help it at this point.

Strange tenses up again next to him. "Don't make this about me. I didn't ask for this."

"Not about you…" Mordo shakes his head in exasperation. Strange might be the most frustrating man he has ever met. "If you had not been recklessly working with forces that you had no right or cause to use, neither of us would be in this predicament. So, yes, I believe this is about you. You and your arrogance, Strange. Your lack of respect for the rules of magic which you clearly do not understand."

Strange's eyes flash with real anger now. "It's my choice. My life. I wasn't doing anything dangerous—nothing that would hurt anyone else. Everything would have been fine if you hadn't barged in. I didn't ask for your help. And I certainly didn't need it."

Mordo works to control his breathing, center himself. Becoming angry now will not help anything. Pushing Strange further is not going to solve the problem. The man is just not ready to deal with this. Not yet.

"Perhaps," he says, keeping his voice even. "Perhaps I was reckless, too, in intervening. That cannot be changed now, though. I just... I care about you."

Strange doesn't seem ready to let go of his anger just yet. "Thanks, but... I don't need you to care about me. And I don't need your help."

" _Don't_ _need_ _my_ _help_?" Mordo works hard to keep the disdain out of his voice, but it's difficult. He can feel his anger rising up again, pounding through his head. "You don't need my help? I think, perhaps, that I am the only one who can help you right now. Maybe you should consider that for a moment before you say anything more."

When Strange opens his mouth to say something—no doubt something that neither of them wants to hear—Mordo cuts him off. "I'm going out for a bit. I'll be back when we are both more rational. Maybe we can talk then."

And he pushes himself out of his body and floats away, free, before he has a chance to see the look on Strange's face.

 

 4.  _Hold On_

When he can no longer keep his scattered thoughts together, Mordo heads reluctantly back.

_Back to his room. Back to Strange._

It's been about five hours since he's been gone. And the guilt at leaving so abruptly has already swept away the last of his anger. He knows he is better than this. He has to be, for both their sakes.

He floats in through the closed door and then just stops to watch the scene playing out before him, transfixed.

Strange is sitting on the bed next to his body. He's dressed as if he's ready to sleep—loose pajama trousers and an old t-shirt. _Comfortable._ As Mordo watches, he raises a small glass to his lips, winces, and drinks it down in a single gulp. He shakes his head and sways just slightly, before slamming the empty glass down inelegantly on the bedside table. There's a tall green bottle there, about three-quarters full of liquid.

 _Alcohol? Where did he get it? How?_ _When?_ It's not exactly forbidden here at Kamar-Taj, but it is discouraged. And most of those who come here quickly lose interest in such things. Magic becomes a new, more intoxicating addiction.

Mordo frowns. He's beginning to suspect that Strange has a plan, and that it will not be good. For either of them.

Mordo finally settles back into his body—the familiar solid weight of it feels like a burden and a relief at the same time. He blinks up at the ceiling, trying to decide what his next move should be.

"There you are," Strange says, and his voice sounds low and rough.

Mordo sighs and sits up, scoots to the edge of the bed so his bare feet can rest on the floor. He slides his toes along the ancient wood. _Cool. Smooth. Worn._ He lets himself revel for just a second in his return to the physical, to simple sensations like touch. Everything is so much sharper— _raw_ —after the cotton-wool feeling of being in the Astral Dimension. Easier to focus on that than the issue at hand.

Unfortunately, the issue at hand is sitting right next to him. Mordo sighs. He supposes they will have to have another discussion about their predicament. And how long they are going to draw out the inevitable. Mordo is a patient man, and he's certainly willing to wait until Strange has accepted their fate, but he'd really like to have his life back at some point. He supposes he will have to approach the subject more delicately, considering the results of their last discussion

Strange is just looking at him, face oddly slack, blue-green eyes shining. _Drunk_ , Mordo thinks. _Of course he's drunk. And not just a little drunk. Very drunk._

And he knows what Strange's plan is. It's obvious. Mordo shakes his head. So typical, he thinks. Using alcohol as another wall between them. Another way to distance himself from the consequences of his actions.

Strange shrugs when he finally notices the recognition in Mordo's eyes. He must have noticed the disappointment there as well, because he has enough of his faculties left to look a little guilty.

"I… I want to… apologize for the way I acted tonight. What I said." Strange scrubs a hand over his face. "None of this is your fault. It's my fault. And I've been… unfair to you." He takes a deep breath. "You've been nothing but patient while I've been running around… trying to work out my issues. You don't deserve this. Any of this. And it's time for me to put an end to this—do what I should have done at the beginning…" He shrugs and looks back at Mordo. "It's all just bodies, physiology. I've had my freak out. Now I'm over it. So… let's get it on," he concludes, mouth quirking up in a smile.

Mordo chuckles slightly, shakes his head. The last bit of anger that he'd been carrying around after their argument drains away. "You are mistaken if you think I'm going to take advantage of you while you're in this state."

Strange frowns a little, confused. "You wouldn't be taking advantage of me. I consent. I… I want this."

Mordo sighs. "But you don't want _this_." He gestures vaguely to the space between the two of them.

The look of confusion on Strange's face deepens. And Mordo knows he's being unfair. He's not even sure what he's trying to convey. Of course they don't want this. Neither of them would have chosen to be in this situation—to be bound together like this. Prisoners of this ridiculous spell and Strange's recklessness.

Mordo doesn’t know what he wants exactly, but it's been so long since he's been with someone. _Anyone._ And, if he's honest with himself, he can admit now that he wants Strange, has fantasized about how it might happen between them, knowing that it could never actually be real. But this? This is not what he'd imagined. Does it really bother him so much that Strange needs to medicate himself in order to touch him? Mordo's not sure that it matters anymore.

_Would it hurt to try? Would it hurt so much to just enjoy this?_

"I'm sorry," Mordo says. "You're right. We should try this."

But first… He reaches across Strange and pours a good amount of alcohol into the glass. He holds it up to his face for just a moment, breathing deeply, remembering all of the moments in his life tied to this smell. Good and bad memories, both. The drink burns as it goes down and Mordo squints his eyes and coughs.

He glances back up at Strange, who looks amused now. Mordo tips the glass at him. "Strong stuff, this," he croaks.

Strange huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. And Mordo can't help laughing with him. The whole thing is pretty amusing—this predicament they're in.

Mordo pours one more time and drinks it down. He can already feel the warmth pooling in his muscles, tension easing from his mind.

Strange plucks the glass from his hand, pours sloppily and takes another drink. Mordo thinks he should probably stop him now. Strange is already very, very intoxicated. And Mordo can't help the fascination he feels at the change in him.

He's never really seen Strange like this before—all loose and relaxed. As if all of the man's sharp edges have been blunted by alcohol. And maybe they have been. Even when he's asleep, he's never like this. Strange looks younger now—the lines around his eyes and at his brow are softer. His hair is damp—he must have washed it while Mordo was out, has no idea how he'd managed it—and it's started curling as it dries. His eyes—those beautiful, exotic eyes—are a little wider, unguarded, now that they're not narrowed in calculation. It's so different than what Mordo's become accustomed to, and he finds it oddly arousing. And suddenly he wants this to happen. Whatever _this_ is…

Mordo lifts his hand to Strange's face. The other man flinches just bit as Mordo's fingers settle on his skin, but he doesn't pull away. Mordo rubs his thumb over one sharp cheekbone, then down to Strange's bottom lip. He really does have a beautiful mouth. Mordo thinks it's a little bit of a shame that he's chosen to cover it up with a goatee.

Strange closes his eyes and shudders a little bit as Mordo strokes him. After a moment, he leans his head into the touch. The sight sends a rush of heat straight to Mordo's groin, and he's suddenly achingly hard.

"What…" he starts, and his voice is unexpectedly rough. He'll blame it on the alcohol. Mordo clears his throat and starts again. "What do you want to do?" He knows Strange has given this some thought before he set his plan in motion. And Mordo wants him to take the lead here. Do only what he's comfortable with.

Strange swallows visibly. "I want to… I want to try, uh… um…" he stammers.

Mordo smiles at Strange's awkwardness. The man is not often at a loss for words, and Mordo finds that he likes it when he is. Just a little.

Strange finally looks away and blows out a long breath. "I want to try _this_ ," he says, and he slips down to the floor on his knees in front of Mordo. He runs his palms cautiously along Mordo's thighs before glancing up, a question in his eyes.

 _Ah_ , thinks Mordo. _A compromise, then_. Maybe it will be enough—a loophole in the spell that they can exploit. What were the words again? _Penetrative sex._ _Would this count?_ And he realizes, guiltily, that he doesn't even care at this point if it will work or not. Blood rushes to his cock at the sight of Strange kneeling before him. Another fantasy come to life.

Mordo struggles to control his breathing for a moment. He nods at Strange, raises his hand again to run his fingers through the soft hair at the back of his neck. Strange shivers and closes his eyes tightly. Mordo just waits for him to decide what to do.

After a moment, Strange leans forward and presses his head against Mordo's thigh, face perilously close to his groin. Now it's Mordo's turn to shudder. _It's been far too long_ , he thinks, _since he's had this._

He can sense the tension in Strange now despite the alcohol, feel the increased tremor in his hands and the quickness of his breathing against his leg. Mordo continues to run his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, soothing him.

Mordo keeps his voice gentle, calm. "Have you ever done this before?" He suspects he already knows the answer.

Strange snorts nervously. "No," he says. His voice is rough.

Strange runs his hands up Mordo's thighs again, pushes his robes aside, and lets his fingers rest against the edges of the bulge in his trousers. Mordo breathes deeply, waiting. This has always been his favorite part—the anticipation of what's to come.

Strange runs his fingers gently along Mordo's hard length, fingers shaking just slightly. It would be ticklish if Mordo hadn't dulled the edges of his senses with alcohol. But, instead it feels wonderful. He holds his breath for a moment, enjoying the sensation when Strange does it again.

"I might need…" Strange starts, hesitates. He picks ineffectively at the buttons of Mordo's trousers. "I might need you to do this part." He seems almost more embarrassed about this than the act they are about to perform, and Mordo feels a sudden stab of pity for the man.

He doesn't say anything. Just reaches down and undoes his buttons. As soon as he's gotten them open, Strange tugs his flies aside, freeing his erection. And the sudden heat of the man's hot breath against his cock makes Mordo gasp a little. It's suddenly a struggle to hold back, resist the urge to grab Strange's hair and push his face down, push into him.

Strange hesitates for only a moment before wrapping one hand around him and closing his mouth over the head of Mordo's cock. And it's wet and sloppy and hot and perfect. Mordo gasps and his fingers clench involuntarily in Strange's hair before he manages to control himself. It takes some effort to gentle his hands again, resume the soft petting. _Too long_ , he thinks. _Much too long._

It's obvious that Strange is a novice at this. He knows the theory behind the act, of course, but lacks practical experience. After a few hesitant sucks and a half-hearted attempt to take him in deeper that results in a chocking fit, Strange stops moving as if lost, waiting. Luckily, Mordo is a patient teacher.

"Keep your hand around me while you move," he says softly. "That will make it easier to decide how far down you should go without gagging."

Strange stills for a minute and then does as Mordo suggested, moving his mouth slowly up and down, using his hand as a guide. And his compliance is almost as erotic as the act, itself. Mordo closes his eyes and enjoys the sensation of Strange's hot mouth on him, using his hands to gently encourage the movement of Strange's head up and down, setting the rhythm. A hint of the other man's teeth against his cock just adds a sharper edge to his pleasure. He knows he won't last long like this.

Strange gains confidence quickly. _He's always been a fast learner_ , Mordo thinks. _Why should this be any different?_ He moves his hand down in increments, letting more of Mordo's cock fill his throat with each push, drawing his tongue against the head as he moves up. He chokes a little when he goes down too far, but it doesn't seem to bother him now. He runs just the tips of his fingers lightly across Mordo's testicles, as if he's afraid of touching him there. His eyes are closed and his breathing is slow and even. _Focused._ And Mordo thought he wasn't paying attention during his meditation lessons.

"You're doing so well. You're so good," he murmurs. He's not sure if Strange appreciates hearing his voice or not, but Mordo has always enjoyed sharing his experiences with his partners. It doesn't seem unwelcome, in any case, judging by its effect on Strange.

Mordo can feel the other man's body relaxing against his, the tension leaving his muscles as he works. Finally, Strange lets go of Mordo's cock completely, rests his hands against Mordo's thighs, allowing Mordo to guide his head. And Mordo does—pulling him down gently, pushing in as far as he dares, into that soft, pliant mouth, until he can feel Strange's throat closing around him, and then out again. It's perfect—this surrender. It's exactly what he's wanted. What he's been missing.

"Yes. That's it, just like that," he murmurs. As Mordo gets closer, he can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. Words of encouragement, words of appreciation for this beautiful man sucking his cock. "You feel so good, so good. Take it. _Please._ _Yes._ Just like that."

He senses some of the tension returning to Strange, but it's different now. His mouth is just as pliable and soft, but his eyes are squeezed shut tight and his breathing has becoming faster, harsher. He moves one of his hands down between his legs, rubs at himself with the heel of his palm.

"You're close, too. You like this," Mordo breathes. _So close. He's so close now._ Seeing Strange like this… And he _wants_ him to enjoy this. Needs him to. Strange makes a desperate noise—almost a whine—around Mordo's cock, and the sound pushes Mordo right to the edge. The pleasure sparking through his groin reaching a crescendo, vibrating him to the core, building up to the inevitable.

At any other time, he would be considerate of his partner, maybe pull out if he knew the person with him was inexperienced, but there's a spell that needs to be satisfied. And there's a reason they're doing this, even if Mordo wishes the circumstances were different.

" _Strange_ ," he gasps. "I'm coming. I'm…" And then his mind is swept away in a white-hot flood of pleasure. And he can't help it, but he pushes Strange's head down hard, feels him swallowing around his cock, throat spasming as he gags.

When he can think again, Mordo hastily releases Strange's head, letting him pull up, smoothing down the hair that he'd just had his hands fisted in. "Sorry!" he gasps. "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?"

Strange just looks up at him, hazy-eyed, and then down at Mordo's wrist where the silver runes are still glowing, still circling in their lazy orbit. "Fuck," he mutters.

It didn't work, then. _It was a fairly remote possibility at the outset_ , Mordo thinks. Well-crafted spells rarely leave such loopholes lying about. _And yet_ … He can't help feeling a traitorous sense of relief that they are still bound together.

Strange is still staring at the runes, but now he's pressing his hand to his groin and his breathing is rough and heavy. Mordo can't leave him like this—it just wouldn't be fair.

He pulls at Strange until the other man stands on shaky legs and sits down next to him on the bed. He looks completely and utterly wrecked—pupils wide and black, mouth half-open as he pants, hair curling and sticking out where Mordo has been yanking at it. Completely debauched. It's an amazing sight.

"Come here." Mordo pulls the other man closer until they are leaning together, Strange relaxing against him, alcohol keeping him loose and calm despite everything they've just done. Mordo reaches out tentatively and rests his hand on the bulge in Strange's pajamas. The other man jumps slightly at the touch, but Mordo shushes him and Strange subsides back against him.

Mordo's honestly not sure why he's continuing this after Strange's experiment has failed. Weakness of spirit, maybe. He finds that he doesn't care to question his motives right now. He just wants to hold onto this.

And the heat of Strange's cock through the thin fabric is intoxicating. He moves his hand slowly, experimentally, pressing his palm hard against the length of him.

Strange closes his eyes and groans.

The sound goes straight to Mordo's heart. And if he hadn't just been sated, he'd be getting hard again from that noise alone. He moves his face closer, wanting nothing more than to feel those beautiful full lips against his own. _Close, so close._ He can feel the other man's warmth against his mouth, smell the lingering tang of alcohol and semen on his breath. _Yes_ , Mordo thinks. _Yes._

But at the last second, Strange turns his face away and buries himself in Mordo's neck, warm moist breath superheating the fabric of his robes. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, and they settle against Mordo's upper arms, not exactly holding on—but his trembling fingers clench and unclench against Mordo's robes.

Mordo continues rubbing his hand along the other man's length. Strange's pajamas are loose enough that he can almost wrap his fingers completely around. When he finally does, Strange moans softly against his neck. Mordo just holds him for a moment, enjoying the weight and heat of him in his hand. It's been too long since he's felt this. Far too long.

He wonders again how Strange manages to pleasure himself with his hands they are. Does it hurt him? Has he decided to forego that comfort for himself? Mordo has noticed these things because he cares. How Strange chooses his weapons carefully during their sparring sessions—selecting those that will not require him to grip too hard for too long. How he picks up the staff like he's challenging himself, his face a mask of determination.

He takes pity on Strange and begins moving his hand slowly up and down his cock, the smooth fabric sliding between them. And now the other man's breath is coming in harsh pants. Mordo can feel his hips thrusting just a bit, pushing up into his hand as he works him. Dampness is seeping into the fabric over the head of his cock, and Mordo wants desperately to get rid of that last barrier between them. He wants to feel hot skin beneath his fingers.

He stops stroking to slip his fingers beneath the waistband of Strange's pajamas. The other man's fists suddenly clench onto Mordo's upper arms, the slight tremble now a pronounced shaking.

" _Don't_ ," he says, sharply. "I don't…" Strange's breathing has turned ragged, and he shakes his head against Mordo's shoulder.

Mordo stops moving, but he doesn't take his hand away. "Just let me…" He's not sure exactly what he's asking for, but he wants this. Wants to feel this, whatever it means. In the past, he would have just taken what he wanted, but that's not who he is anymore. So, instead, he says, "Please. Just let me…"

They remain frozen for a few seconds, just the sound of their breathing breaking the silence, and then Strange's hands relax against Mordo's arms. He lets out a long breath and nods once against Mordo's shoulder.

Mordo finally slips his hand into Strange's pajamas and the other man lets out a harsh gasp as Mordo's fingers close around him. And it's good—the feeling of another man's cock in his hand again. _So good._ Hot and smooth and soft and hard at the same time. Nothing else like it. He rubs his thumb gently across the slit, pressing it open just a bit and spreading warm fluid over the head of his cock. Strange moans again against Mordo's neck and actually bites down on the fabric of Mordo's robes.

Mordo moves his other hand up to rub soothing circles on Strange's neck. "It's all right, it's all right," he can't help murmuring. "Just let me…" He's not sure what he's even trying to say anymore. He just knows he wants this right now. _Needs this._

Mordo begins moving his hand up and down the other man's cock. Slowly at first, letting his thumb rub over the head with each stroke, using his pre-come as a lubricant. Strange whimpers around the fabric in his mouth and thrusts against Mordo's hand, trying to increase the friction.

Mordo smiles. This is what he's wanted, what he's been missing. He speeds up his strokes, trying to synch his movements to Strange's breathing. He can't stop the words coming out of his mouth now, low and urgent, can't help saying, "That's it. Just like that. Let me do this."

Mordo can tell he's close now—Strange is gasping against his shoulder, fast and harsh, his hands are shaking around Mordo's arms. "Come on, Strange." His own voice sounds ragged now, breathless. Mordo presses his mouth to Strange's ear. "Give it to me. Let me have this," he whispers.

Strange's breath catches. And then he's groaning, biting down hard and coming over Mordo's hand in a sudden hot rush, holding onto Mordo like he's drowning.

 

 _5_.  _Let Go_

Mordo wakes in a haze, thoughts scattered before he remembers suddenly what he'd done last night. What they had done. He rubs at the ache behind his eyes, drawing his brows together. _Gods, that drink!_ He makes a silent vow to never touch the stuff again.

But despite the headache, he feels remarkably good—pressed up against Strange's now familiar warmth, listening to the other man's soft snoring, relaxed and sated. _Satisfied_. He could get used this, if he's not careful.

He runs his hand down Strange's side, refusing to feel guilty about touching him while he sleeps. He doesn't want to lose all of the progress they've made, lose the intimacy they'd shared last night. Mordo wants to keep their forward momentum going.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

Mordo can also admit that he just enjoys touching him. He pushes his hips up into Strange's arse. _It really is a nice one_ , he thinks. He runs his hand down to the other man's hip—not so bony now as it had been when he'd first arrived—pressing his fingers into the little hollow in the front, letting his thumb rub along the edge of the crest. He moves his hand further, exploring, down to the top of Strange's buttock, letting his fingers curl around the soft flesh there. He's getting hard now thinking about it, knowing that he's going to fuck this man. At some point. Hopefully soon. It's inevitable.

He pushes his erection gently against Strange's arse, rocking into him just a bit. Strange makes a low, groaning sound in his throat and pushes back, hips moving slowly and rhythmically. Mordo knows the other man is still asleep, his body operating on instinct alone, trying to satisfy an urge that he's not even aware of.

And he knows that Strange is already hard, probably leaking—just the thought makes Mordo ache—he knows he could reach around and get him off right now. It wouldn't take much. He could rut against the other man while he did it, maybe bring them both to orgasm before Strange even woke. It's a tempting fantasy.

At one time, he wouldn't have given it a second thought—would have taken exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. Given in to every base impulse without a moment wasted on self-reflection. But he is not that man anymore…

Instead, he sighs and pulls away, putting as much space as he can between the two of them in the narrow bed. He can be patient.

 

***

 

When Strange finally wakes, it's well past morning, approaching afternoon in fact. He groans and rolls over onto his back, then throws an arm over his face.

"Shit."

He seems to suddenly remember that Mordo is there, glances up at him from underneath his arm, obviously also remembering what they got up to if the quick flash of heat on his face is anything to go by.

"Good morning," Mordo says, chuckling.

Strange just grunts and hides under his arm again.

"Hung over?"

Strange finally pulls his arm away, lies blinking at the ceiling for a moment. "Not too bad," he rasps. "Considering…" He gives Mordo an appraising look. "You?"

"I'm fine. I… slept well." Mordo's not sure how to broach the subject of last night without upsetting Strange.

But Strange doesn't react. He just lays there, silently, thinking. Mordo considers it a small victory that he hasn't decided to leave his body yet, return to the safety of the library. He waits to see what the other man will decide.

"Shower," Strange says suddenly. "I need a shower. If you don't mind," he adds.

"I don't mind," Mordo says. He rolls off the bed and stretches his aching muscles, waiting for Strange to catch up.

In the bathroom, they take turns relieving themselves, still carefully averting their eyes—Mordo thinks it's just a bit absurd, considering—and then Strange is starting the water in the shower and peeling off his t-shirt. Mordo turns away, giving the man his privacy.

Strange clears his throat. Mordo looks over. The other man is standing there, completely naked, body long and lean and pale. Mordo tries to keep his eyes focused on Strange's face, but it's hard.

Strange looks at him, an uncharacteristic vulnerability in his eyes. Mordo doesn't think he's ever seen him like this before. Not when sober, anyway...

He clears his throat again. "I, uh… I thought we could share. Today." He gestures at the shower. "If you, uh… if you wanted to."

"Are you sure you're comfortable with that?"

"I had your dick in my mouth last night." Strange smirks just a bit. "I think we can be in the shower at the same time."

Mordo chuckles again. "I suppose we can manage that."

And they do.

It's awkward in the small space as they each take turns under the spray, moving carefully around each other so they don't touch. Mordo stares openly at Strange's body, taking in the long, lean lines of his muscles, his smooth skin, the very nice arse he's come to appreciate.

Mordo's cock has been half-hard throughout the proceedings. Hopeful, perhaps, that something more interesting might happen soon. He can see Strange glancing at him when he thinks Mordo's not looking. He doesn't mind—he's never been ashamed of his body or shy about showing it off.

He notices that Strange takes spends an inordinate amount of time scrubbing himself, and he knows suddenly that the man has come to a decision.

When they step out of the shower, the silence between them grows more intense, loaded. Mordo tries catching Strange's eye, but the other man is resolutely looking away.

They take turns drying themselves, using Mordo's only towel, and then it's time to get dressed.

Instead, Strange turns to him and says, "I want you to fuck me."

Mordo stares at him for a moment. Strange stares back. Mordo can tell he's anxious, forcing himself to stay still despite it, forcing himself to look Mordo in the eye.

"All right," Mordo says slowly.

Strange blinks at him, nods, swallows nervously. "Okay, then."

 

***

 

They spend a few few minutes preparing things, still locked in that awkward dance of avoidance. Mordo pours some oil into a small bowl and set it on the bedside table. Strange, pointedly, avoids looking at it. Mordo considers the physics of what they are about to do—with the binding tying them together they don't have as many options. They end up sitting next to each other on Mordo's bed, both completely naked.

"Lay back," he says, giving Strange a little push to encourage him. He obeys, silently, lying back against the pillows, on top of the sheets. 

Mordo swallows a little, mouth suddenly dry at the sight of him, naked in his bed. He wants so badly to touch him. Right now. Urgently. _Patience_ , he thinks. _Take_ _it_ _slowly_.

The other man is silent in front of him, waiting.

Mordo nudges Strange's thighs apart, settles between his spread legs, and runs his hands down the other man's flanks. His skin is smooth and soft and warm, and still just a little bit damp from the shower. Strange's muscles jump under his fingers and his breathing quickens. _Ticklish_ , Mordo thinks. _But trying to hide it._

Mordo can feel the tension coming off of him, read it in the restless movement of his eyes over Mordo's body, over everything but his face, and the way he's pulling reflexively at the sheets under them. The easy push and pull from last night is long gone—Strange is strung taught, practically vibrating with tension. Mordo leans down until he's pressed over Strange's body, rests his lips against the side of his neck, feeling his pulse beating strong and fast under the soft skin there. No alcohol to dull the edge of his fear now. _Better this way_ , Mordo thinks.

Mordo knows exactly what to do. How to get what he wants. How to take it. He knows how to force pleasure onto another person's body, even if they don't want it. And he is good at it. _Was good at it_ , he reminds himself. It's not something he's proud of—a useless memory from a part of his life that he's tried to forget. So long ago. And, yet, sometimes he misses it. Misses the life he used to have. Even if he was not a good person back then.

He feels a momentary pang of guilt. What they're doing now—what he's about to do—isn't the same. Strange has consented to this, after all, but it is dangerously close.

He pulls back again, so he can see the other man's face.

"You're afraid." Mordo knows he is, of course. But maybe if he says it out loud they can deal with it. He's not sure why he's pushing the issue now, especially when Strange has already consented, is already laid out beneath him, naked.

Strange snorts, but there's no humor in his eyes. He turns and stares at the wall, obstinate. Closed off. Mordo can practically feel him putting his shields in place. 

"It's all right to be afraid," Mordo says, gently, running a soothing hand along the other man's leg.

Strange heaves a long sigh, but says nothing.

"I know how hard this is for you. Letting go. Giving control up to someone else." Mordo narrows his eyes, everything becoming clearer to him as he articulates it. "It's not the sex. It's not that you do not want to have sex with a man. Not just that, anyway. It's all about control. You do not want to lose control in front of me. You do not want to appear vulnerable."

"Do you psychoanalyze everyone you fuck?" Strange flicks cold eyes briefly over Mordo's face. "Because it's really not a turn on."

 _Insults_ _and_ _sarcasm_. _Disrespect_. These things have obviously worked well for Strange in the past. But Mordo will not allow them, not here, not with what they are about to do. He shrugs, smiles slightly. "Not everyone, no."

Strange huffs and turns back to the wall. "Just get on with it."

"Strange. Look at me."

Strange finally turns his head back, looks up at Mordo reluctantly.

"If we do this, we do it my way."

Strange doesn't look away, so Mordo goes on. "I want you to trust me."

"I do trust you." Strange's voice is low and quiet, rough.

"I want you to trust me, completely. With everything."

Strange doesn't say anything, just nods slowly, once.

"May I kiss you?" Mordo knows he's pushing him, pushing the intimacy between them quickly past what Strange is comfortable with, but he needs this before they go on.

Strange glances at Mordo's mouth nervously. "Okay," he says softly.

Mordo leans in again, runs his hands up the sides of the other man's neck and presses his lips to Strange's mouth, gently at first. He doesn't flinch or turn away this time, so Mordo presses harder. Strange's lips are soft and warm, slightly prickly along the top where the edge of his beard is neatly trimmed. 

He moves his tongue gently but insistently against the other mans mouth. Strange finally takes the hint and parts his lips, and Mordo slips his tongue inside. He feels good--warm and wet and soft, and he tastes like toothpaste.

Mordo sighs against his mouth and deepens the kiss, guiding Strange's head to get a better angle. Soon, both of them are panting against each other, mouths and tongues moving searchingly. He can feel Strange's cock hardening against his thigh.

Mordo sits up between Strange's spread legs, appreciating the view for a second. His pale skin, the dark patch of hair above his half-hard cock, flushed and dark at the head.  _Perfect_ , he thinks. He runs his hands down Strange's thighs, feels the shifting muscles under his hands. When he reaches behind Strange's knees, the man tenses up again. _Another ticklish spot_ , Mordo knows. He pulls up a little, encouraging Strange to raise his knees. Strange complies wordlessly, planting his feet, long toes curling into the sheets in nervous anticipation. He doesn't look at Mordo, keeps his eyes fixed on the wall.

Mordo rubs gently at his thighs. "Relax," he says. Strange lets out a little snort of derision, like the idea is ridiculous to him. Fortunately, Mordo knows a few tricks to deal with the issue.

He lays back down on top of Strange, slotting their bodies together carefully, resting his mouth back against that long neck. Strange lifts his chin to give him better access and Mordo bites down softly, letting his tongue flick out to taste him. Strange makes a low rumbling sound that Mordo can feel through his chest. He moves down further, biting and licking down the body spread out before him like a gift. He can feel Strange's breathing getting faster, his skin growing hotter, muscles jumping and fluttering under his hands.

When he reaches Strange's cock he doesn't hesitate, just takes him all the way into his mouth at once. Strange gasps and arches off the bed. Mordo grabs him by the hips and presses him back down before the other man accidentally gags him. The taste of him—faintly salty skin, bitter and metallic pre-come—make Mordo groan with need. _Far_ , _far too long since he's tasted anything so good._ He doesn't give Strange a chance to think about what's happening, just sets up a deliberate pace, moving his head slowly up and down, using his lips and tongue and hands to drive him to distraction. _Literally_.

Mordo quickly dips his fingers into the little bowl, reaches back down back behind Strange's testicles, presses a slippery finger against him. Not pushing in—just holding still, waiting for him to forget it's there. He moves his mouth up and down Strange's cock, slowly, teasingly—never quite giving him the friction he needs. Not yet. He can feel the muscles under his fingers tensing and relaxing as he moves his head. He waits until Strange relaxes around him and then pushes in slowly, feeling the other man clenching around him. Strange gasps at the intrusion and his hands grab at Mordo's hair, stilling him.

Mordo allows him to become accustomed to the sensation, waits until he feels the tight ring of muscle loosen again around his finger. Strange is so hot inside. Hot and smooth. He's forgotten how hot a human body is on the inside. He's forgotten how good it feels to be inside someone. And Mordo wants desperately to be inside Strange right now. But he's a patient man—he needs to do this right.

He waits until Strange relaxes again, until his hands release their tight grip on his hair, and then he begins moving his finger slowly in and out. Tiny pushes at first, and then deeper and faster as Strange loosens around him. He can hear the other man's breathing coming harsher and faster. Mordo resumes the movement of his mouth on Strange's cock, letting his finger fall into the same rhythm—slow and steady. He knows exactly what to do. It's not something he could ever forget...

Strange moans and draws his knees up, rocking his hips back and forth almost involuntarily, caught between Mordo's mouth and his finger. On the next pass, Mordo adds a second slick finger. It slips in easily beside the first and he pushes in hard and fast. Strange throws his head back and gasps, " _Oh fuck!_ "

Mordo hums around the cock in his mouth. _Oh, yes._ He's missed this so much. Now he presses his fingers up, feeling, searching… _There it is_. Strange jumps as Mordo's fingers find his prostate. Mordo uses his other hand to press Strange's sharp hip into the mattress, controlling him. He moves his fingers gently inside him and over the gland, rubbing in little circles at first, pressing his thumb against his perineum with each stroke. Strange is moaning low in his throat on each exhale, breath harsh as he pants. He's dropped his hands away from Mordo's head and back down to fist in the sheets. He moves his legs up to wrap around Mordo's lower back, heels digging into him, trying to pull him closer. His whole body is shaking now, muscles tense. His cock is heavy and full in Mordo's mouth.

Mordo knows he's close, but it's not time for that. Not yet. He needs more. He lifts his head from Strange's cock, ignoring the other man's groan as he pulls his mouth away. He wants to see this part. _Desperately_. He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, adds a third and presses in again. He sits back, watching as they disappear inside. There's some resistance this time—he's still so tight—but he pushes past it steadily, shuddering as Strange's body opens up and gives way to him.

Mordo knows Strange all too well now, after last night, suspects that a little bit of pain is what he needs to get the man where he wants him, force Strange past his limits until he surrenders. And it works—just as he'd known it would. He can feel the tension leaving Strange's limbs, legs growing heavy and loose against Mordo's back, hands shaking, fingers spread wide against the sheets.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Just like that. Perfect. You're perfect. Open up for me." He wants this man so badly… Has to have him. "Let go. _Yes_ … Just like that. Let me in."

This is how he wants Strange—open, pliable. Ready for anything Mordo wants to do to him. _Mine,_ he thinks. _Just for this moment._

Mordo moves his hand slowly, fingers rocking gently in and out of that tight heat, brushing against his prostate on each stroke. Strange's breathing is deep and even, his eyes shut tight. And Mordo knows he has him right on the knife's edge of orgasm, ready to fall if he pushes him in just the right way.

"Mordo… _Please_ …" Strange's voice is practically a whisper, low and rough and broken.

It's all the encouragement Mordo needs—he knows Strange is ready. He slicks himself with his free hand as quickly as he can, fumbling a little with the bowl of oil, nearly knocking it off the table. And then he's pulling out his fingers, and grabbing at Strange's thighs so he can push his legs up higher, opening him. He's suddenly desperate to be inside him. Wants him more than he's wanted anything in a long time.

"Look at me," Mordo rasps. He wants to see Strange's face when he takes him. His own voice is deep with need, shocking—he barely recognizes it.

Strange looks at him, and his eyes are wet, red-rimmed. His face is slack, broken. _Gorgeous_ , Mordo thinks.

He pulls Strange's hips up and pushes into him with one hard stroke, pushes until he's deep inside. Strange throws his head back and groans, long neck straining. _Gods!_ He's so hot inside. So agonizingly hot and tight. Mordo has to stop and breathe for a moment, control himself before he loses everything to the wave of intense pleasure spreading out from his groin.

When he can finally move again he pulls out slowly, not quite all the way, and then pushes back in until he's flush against Strange again. He puts out one arm so he can lean down and lick at Strange's neck. Strange moans and reaches up to Mordo's back, rests shaking hands across his sweaty skin. 

"Okay?" Mordo whispers, feeling Strange's rapid pulse under his lips.

Strange doesn't speak, but Mordo can feel him nodding, and he pulls his legs in tighter around Mordo's hips, encouraging him to move. 

Mordo rocks against him gently, into him, letting their bodies find the right pace. Soon their movements speed up, becoming urgent, desperate. Mordo knows he won't last long like this—it's been too long.

He sits back and pulls Strange up into his lap, changing the angle so his cock can hit all of the best places inside him. Strange gasps desperately when Mordo slams into him, and his hands fly up to grab at Mordo's wrists where they're digging into the sharp bones of his hips. Mordo sets a new rhythm—fast and hard, pushing into Strange relentlessly, savoring the obscene sound of his skin slapping against that soft arse. He wraps his hand around the other man's cock—wet with pre-come and his own saliva—and fists him hard and fast as he fucks him. _This is it. He's almost there._ He can feel the sweat rolling down his back, making him shiver with bliss. His muscles burn with exertion, adding a rough edge to his pleasure, making it sweeter. He's close now. _So close._

He wants Strange to come first—needs to feel him when he does.

Too close, suddenly. _It has to be now._ "Come on, Strange," he pants. His voice is little more than a growl now, an animal sound. " _Fuck!_ Let me feel you. Come on, give it to me."

And Strange does, practically sobbing as he comes. Mordo can feel him clenching around his cock, muscles tightening over and over as his orgasm rushes through him. Then the feel of it, the sight of him—chest heaving, cock pulsing, tears sliding down the sides of his face, completely undone—is quickly pulling him over the edge, too.

Mordo can almost feel Strange's orgasm as if it's his own, immediate and sharp, tingling through him, like the boundaries between their bodies have blurred. He feels like they've merged into one being somehow. And it's all suddenly too much. He yells as white hot pleasure courses through him, keeps pushing until he's wrung himself out completely into Strange's body, hips jerking wildly until he's spent.

He collapses back down onto Strange, chest heaving, completely exhausted. Mordo grabs roughly at the other man's sweat damp hair, tilting his head and pushing against his open mouth in a sloppy kiss. They pant against each other, coming back to reality slowly.

Strange finally turns his head to the side, breaking the kiss. His body starts shaking, little trembles that grow and grow. It takes Mordo far too long to realize he's laughing. It's not a sound he's heard often, and not what he'd expected to hear now.

"What?" Mordo asks, smiling, staring down at Strange. His joy is bizarrely contagious.  _Odd_. "What is it?"

"Look." Strange motions to the side with his head, eyes crinkled in happiness, and Mordo follows his gaze to Strange's empty wrist. To _his_ empty wrist. The binding is gone. They're free.

"It worked," Mordo says, voice flat. He'd known it would, of course. He'd just forgotten, maybe, why they'd been doing this in the first place. 

Strange looks back up at him, suddenly serious again, eyes searching Mordo's face for something. After a long moment, he reaches up slowly and pulls Mordo down, kisses him gently, softly.

When it's over Mordo rests his forehead against Strange's, eyes shut tight, wondering how he can ever, ever go back to forgetting.

 

***

 

A week on, and things are mostly back to normal. _They_ are mostly back to normal.

Mordo is quite happy to return to his normal life—lessons with students, time spent alone in meditation, enjoying the peace and quiet at the end of a day. And, yet, he finds that certain activities are diminished. Eating. Sleeping. He realizes that he misses Strange's company, the constant presence at his side. At night, when he wakes, he's surprised to find that he's alone again, reaches for the other man beside him before he remembers that he's not there. Not anymore.

He can enjoy sitting by himself in the courtyard, letting the sun warm his skin as the last light fades away into evening. A few students gather around the tree, voices relaxed, happy—not studying, then, just socializing. Strange walks past him, on his way to the library no doubt—probably to annoy Wong. He tips his head at Mordo in greeting. And Mordo nods back, watches him as he walks away.

Yes, everything is back to normal.

Except, of course…

"For fuck's sake, Mordo. Stop thinking about my ass!"

…that they now seem to be linked, telepathically. Mordo sighs and tries clear his mind. A month, the Ancient One had said. One month until the bond fades, until their new… connection should disappear.

He glares at Strange, shifts uncomfortably in his seat. _Focus_ , he thinks. _Focus on something else._ _Anything_. He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face. It's no use. Absolutely hopeless _. How can he ever think about anything else now that he's had that arse?_

It's going to be long month. Fortunately, Mordo is a patient man.


End file.
